And every once in a while there are headaches. Headaches and mistakes. Suddenly your life's different. You wake up at 11 am. Your head's not spinning cause somewhere down the line you know how to avoid hangovers. You're sleepy but you know it's the same bed that once thanked five undisturbed hours of sleep as a blessing.
You make your own tea. You've come to live with that. You open the balcony door and find the newspapers rolled up in a rubber band. You're fortunate that despite last evening's rain the papers aren't wet by the damp balcony door.
You spend the next couples of hours reading about how the Left has been trying to fuck with the Centre -- and now has fucked everyone up. That politics is somehow the most unclear gamble -- and we coexist with the deception that we're removed from it.
The morning it self is far removed from reason. Reason apart from the fact that the maid would be coming to clean the rooms soon. That there's work today and that there's work to be done. It's not too much but then it depends.
And you wonder if you're unhappy. You miss those eyes. You also miss that old world. You miss being mistreated and you can't hurl cuss words accompanied by a long rant. You miss that old lot. You miss the stairs. You miss those mornings, afternoons and sometimes even those nights.
And then you don't. You forget the eyes. Or you try to by what you read now and what you have to write. You look for them in others. Desperately seeking comfort. When they get too close, you look away. You always look away. You blame everyone for losing the shine in their eyes. As I persist to be in the shadows.